Bravo-Yankee-Echo
by Silence-Speaker
Summary: She sits there, waiting for her crew, waiting for them to visit. They're her 'magnificent men', she's their 'flying machine'.


For the Prompt:

_When Gerti can't fly anymore and everyone has gone on their own separate ways, she's made into a permanent exhibit at the Duxford Air Museum, the interior is restored and kids are allowed to explore her, and she's used as a mini theater for educational films on the history of flight.  
Once in a while, some of her old crew comes round to visit._

Disclaimer: I don't own Cabin Pressure or this prompt. Woe is me.

Gen.

* * *

Minifill:

She stands, taller than she had done when flying with MJN, more pieces decorating her aged bones, in the centre of the room.

It is a small room, but entirely devoted to Lockheed Aircrafts. She sits in pride of place, right smack bang in the middle, just as unmissable as she had been in when in an airport but for entirely different reasons.

Here she is a relic, a gleaming tribute to planes no longer in use. She used to be looked at askance, an OAP in a teenagers nightclub, a missing bit here a broken light there...

There's none of that now. She's been fixed up for the public although any expert would be able to notice that she hasn't necessarily been 'fixed' up, more like painted pretty. Part of her hull has been removed so people can peer in at the other people prodding and poking her insides when they go in for a real look.

It's both an indignity and a relief.

She isn't forgotten (in fact she is very, very popular...if only because children are allowed to climb the seats) but she isn't doing what she was _made_ for.

GERTI was made to fly, had been flying long past what should have been her retirement, but her wings were clipped. Soaring wasn't a possibility any longer. She hadn't flown in more than ten years. She wouldn't fly again.

He sighed; patting her nose gently, with more care than one would treat a newborn.

To him, fixed up like this her wrinkles polished and the rust under her eyes hidden under a thick layer of paint, she has never seemed more fragile.

She was always such a stubborn, strong girl, flying even while slowly disintegrating but now she sits in a room, new strangers visiting each day, as brittle as a shard of glass.

He supposes none of them are quite the same either, all a little more weathered, a little frailer physically too even if their minds are as sharp as ever.

He can still recall the many, many flights in her, the scent of Arthur attempting to make ketchup in the galley without any tomatoes, Carolyn sarcastically-politely dealing with a troublesome passenger stream rolling over their unreasonable demands and doing what she wished and word games in the cockpit.

He sighed. The clinical scent of a well cleaned museum mixing with the metallic smell of GERTI filled his nose as he breathed in. The faint odour of rotten eggs as well, that too, he still had no clue how Arthur had done _that_ but GERTI had smelt ever so slightly of sulphur ever since.

"Her retirement home is treating her well."

"Yes, yes it is." He agreed, not turning to the man standing beside him as he examined her wing.

"She is such a pampered madam."

A small smile curved his lips. "She deserves it."

"Of course."

They stood in silence, comfortable silence, one they had shared lots years ago and slipped into without a thought. Natural quiet.

There weren't many people at the museum today; it was a bright sunny day so most people were enjoying the heat with an outdoor activity. One or two people wandered in whilst they were still examining the changes wrought to their old girl. No one stayed long, this room had the most facts in and was the most interesting in his opinion but the knowledge was hardly obscure and he had found that most people thought it rather dry.

Not everyone was quite as enamoured with aviation as he.

He traced a small scar that marred one of the wings. When she had been flying for MJN it had been a rather large jagged cut from a botched landing. A landing he had scuppered.

He wandered inside the plane that was a stranger to him now.

The seats were different, made to look aged rather than naturally deteriorating over time. He made his way to the cockpit hearing quiet footsteps follow him.

The flight deck hadn't changed much, it was cleaner and brighter than it had ever been but still the place he had spent the most time inside when flying her. He ran his hand over the dashboard fingers glancing over the yolk and brushing across the warning light that had always glowed orange whenever they ascended but once they got to a stable height it flickered out.

"They've replaced this with one from a different model Lockheed." He said, tapping the pristine glass covering that when he had flown her had been cracked down the middle.

In covering up her defects he found she'd lost her character. She was a whole different plane under that stage make-up.

"These chairs look far more comfortable than they used to." Douglas groused.

He glanced at the seats, different from what they used to be – the museum had changed them then.

"They probably are. Carolyn wouldn't have wanted us to be too comfortable after all." They shared a grin before heading out of the plane.

"When did they say-" He cut himself off as he could hear two pairs of footsteps approaching.

"Early, as always." Douglas said with an eyebrow raised.

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "Arthur's fault. He had a try at vegetarian cooking again. Herc, the fool, actually ate it. Again."

"I didn't mean to." Arthur mumbled.

"Why don't you leave the cooking to those who haven't put people in hospital with their hideous concoctions." Carolyn suggested.

"GERTI!" Arthur exclaimed with a grin and practically bounced over to her before going inside. Carolyn stayed out of her but placed her palm on GERTI's nose briefly.

Arthur eventually returned.

"She looks...she looks...looks like..." Arthur trailed off, seemingly not able to say brilliant and not able to say something less than brilliant.

"We know." Martin said quietly, clasping Arthur's shoulder.

"Come along. Lunch awaits." Carolyn chivvied them out, heading towards the local pub.

It was a yearly tradition, to meet up at the museum, in GERTI's room and then go for lunch.

Twelve years since MJN folded and GERTI entered her career as a museum ornament for children to muddy as they stood on the chairs and pretended to pilot her.

"It's not the same." Said Arthur as they left, voice slightly subdued.

"It never is." Douglas quietly agreed before slinging his arm around Arthur's shoulder and asking him about his job now.

Martin walked in silence beside Carolyn. Both pretended not to notice each other glancing back at the museum once or twice.

#

In the now empty Lockheed room of the museum there was a wistful sigh.

She's a butterfly pinned to a wall.

No longer a flying machine.

She misses it, the air rushing through her wings.

Her crew.

She wished they visited more.


End file.
